


Ayamodel

by Insomnia_Productions



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seeing someone who resembled Ayato in a Shoujo manga, an idea was procured—Ayato secretly being a model in his spare time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ayamodel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Manka Szedlák](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Manka+Szedl%C3%A1k).



All was quiet in Aogiri’s latest base. The crisp winter air whispered ceaselessly, urgently. It snaked through the cracks in the crumbling walls, it slipped between the icicles that dangled precariously from the roof. And, most importantly, it sneaked through the holes in Ayato Kirishima’s jacket. He had known, of course, from the moment he stepped outside, that the timeworn lump of fabric would be futile against the unfortunate weather, but it could not have been helped. After all, he had left in a hurry, and in utmost secrecy. For anyone to see him now would mean… Ayato didn’t want to think about what his discovery would lead to. Suffice to say that it would be a fate far worse than death.  
Ayato peered around the corner, letting out a silent breath of relief when the Bin brothers-- or worse, Noro-- didn’t appear. Giving the area one last scope, he brought forth his kagune and took to the air.  
He soared over the city, hidden amongst the clouds, until he arrived at a tall, brightly lit building that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Having ensured that there were no pedestrians nearby, Ayato dropped to the ground and strolled into the building, trying to look like he wasn’t utterly terrified of what awaited him within.  
“Ayato-kun~”  
Ayato flinched as tan arms were flung around his neck from behind.  
“Chelsea-san… I… can’t… breathe.” He pried her arms off and scowled. “Was that necessary?”  
“Yes,” his boss replied, pouting. “You’re late.”  
Ayato grit his teeth. “For the _hundredth time_ , it’s not that easy to--”  
“Sneak out of Aogiri, blah blah, I know, I _know_. But you’re still _late_ , and we don’t have very much time, so get that godawful jacket off _quickly_ and go lie down over there.”  
It had been thirteen months since Ayato had first met Chelsea, the human fashion diva who directed photo shoots for four different teen magazines; thirteen months since his life was changed forever. Ayato had thought he was done for on that fateful night, the one night he’d been careless, the one night he’d let himself be seen. But it turned out that Chelsea thought otherwise. When she looked at him, she hadn’t seen a ghoul. No, she’d seen beyond that. When she looked at him, she hadn’t seen his black and red ghoul eyes, or the bubbling orange mass that had appeared on his back as he readied his kagune. She hadn’t seen the blood smeared across his mouth, or the disemboweled corpse at his feet. When she looked at him, she had seen _him._  
More specifically, his _face._  
His _hot_ face.  
His hot face that could bring her _cash._  
Having been discovered, Ayato hadn’t exactly been in the place to bargain, and with the pedestrian population just outside the alley swelling as nightclubs opened, he was forced to accept defeat and enter into a contract with Chelsea, in return for her silence.  
Of course, he _had_ tried, several times, in fact, to kill her during the months that followed, but the woman was _constantly_ surrounded by a gaggle of adoring interns, and Ayato had eventually come to accept that there was no escape from her wrath.  
He was lucky that the members of the Aogiri Tree had no time, nor want of it, for magazines, and could only hope that his sister didn’t, either.  
Now, as he dubiously eyed the pale blue couch, Ayato wished for the hundredth time that he had just stayed home that night.  
His regret escalated when a shirt was tossed over his head. As the world went black and fuzzy, he felt a firm pair of hands ram into his back, pushing him into the changing room and slamming the door.  
Ayato sighed theatrically and carelessly put on the outfit, knowing that it would be fussed over and perfected the moment he opened the door.  
Which it was.  
Outfit ameliorated, Ayato proceeded to where Chelsea was impatiently waiting, arms folded tightly around the folder held against her chest.  
“Hurry _up_.” She blew choppy pink bangs out of her face and checked her watch. “We now have forty minutes, so-- oh _fudging_ hell, where is that _blasted_ cameraman?” With a dirty look in his direction, she spun and stalked off in search of the cameraman.  
Ayato smirked. Any time wasted on cameraman-hunting meant less modeling time for him. His smile faded quickly when Chelsea returned barely moments later, dragging the unfortunate man by the ear.  
“All _right_ ,” she stated savagely. “Now that we’re all here…” She grabbed Ayato’s collar and all but threw him onto the couch, turning to flip furiously through the folder. Papers tumbled out of it, spilling across the floor, and Ayato could have sworn he saw a flash of Tsukiyama Shuu amongst them.  
“Right, then. Move that screen a smidge to the left… and those lights should be a teensy bit forward…a little more, that’s right,” Chelsea stared intently at the papers in her left hand, gesturing vaguely with her right. “Okay. Perfect.” She turned her attention back to Ayato. “Well? Don’t just lie there like a bloody dishrag. Here… look at this.” She flapped some photographs in front of his face.  
_No doubt about it_ , Ayato thought with a shudder, _that is definitely Tsukiyama Shuu._  
“Stop scowling, you judgmental prick. It’s not attractive. Besides, you have to copy it.”  
Ayato fell off the couch. “ _What_.”  
“Shut up and deal.” Chelsea pulled some blu-tac out of her jeans pocket and tacked the photograph to the bottom of the camera. “There. Seek inspiration, my young padawan.”  
Sighing theatrically once again--he did that a lot when in her presence--Ayato flung his legs over the back of the couch and fell back, blinking away the colorful dots that danced through his vision as the blood rushed to his head.  
“Mmm… something’s off.” Chelsea thrust the papers into the hands of the bemused cameraman and darted forward and, much to the horror of her model, undid several of his shirt buttons.  
“Oi!” Ayato snapped, sitting up. “What are you _doing_?”  
“Shut your whiny mouth,” Chelsea grumbled, pushing him back down. “We have _thirty_ minutes now, thanks to you and _this_ idiot.”  
The cameraman blushed and retreated behind his camera. Chelsea beamed at Ayato.  
“ _Wonderful_. Utterly magnificent.” She cut her eyes to the cameraman. “You, what’s your name again? What? Speak up, I can’t hear you. Right, yes, Stephen, you can take the picture now. Be sure to get the angle right. It’s _all_ about the angle.”  
The camera flashed, and Ayato fought to keep from blinking.  
“Okay, all done.” Chelsea checked her watch and clapped happily. “Yay, we still have some time!” She glanced over at Ayato. “Imma assume you’ve seen _Titanic_ , right?”  
Ayato inched away slightly, rapidly redoing the buttons. “Ye-e-es…”  
“You remember that scene, right? The famous one? You _know_ the one I mean. Yes, yes you do. The French drawing thingy, you know what I’m talking about.”  
Ayato shook his head violently. “I have no idea what you mean.”  
“Shut up. Now, I want you to imitate Rose’s position from that scene. Don’t look so bloody _frightened_ , you baby. You can keep your clothes on, it's a _fashion_ magazine, for crying out loud.”  
Said baby scowled. “As I said, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
Chelsea laughed. “Nonsense. Of course you do. Or would you rather have me give you more photographic inspiration?”  
Ayato’s eyes widened. “N-no, it’s fine, I… I think I remember it now.”  
His boss’s voice dripped with sugar. “That’s a good boy.” She turned to the cameraman, who was watching Ayato’s struggle with twitching lips. “Stephen, stop laughing and do your job.”  
_Crap_. Ayato had forgotten that Chelsea wasn’t the only one watching. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. _The things I do for self-preservation._  
Five agonizing minutes later, Chelsea patted his shoulder and allowed him to sit up again. She walked over to Stephen, and the two spoke in hushed tones Ayato watched warily as Stephen took his camera and hurried off. A few minutes later, he returned with his own stack of papers, which he handed to Chelsea. She flipped through them, glowing with pleasure.  
“Oh, these are _marvelous_. Simply brilliant.” She passed one to Ayato. “Just _look_ at it! Perfection incarnate! This simply _must_ be on the cover.”  
Ayato scrambled up. “What?”  
“I said, this simply must be on the cover of my new magazine. Yes, that one, the picture I just showed you. Don’t you agree?”  
Ayato walked over to Chelsea and gripped her shoulders, mustering all the seriousness inside him. “Chelsea-san, you must _not_ put me on the cover. Please. Just… don’t.”  
Chelsea pouted. “But it’s so perfect for my cover… I really, really want to.”  
“ _Please_ , boss?”  
“All right. I won’t-”  
Ayato sagged. “Oh, _thank you_ -”  
“You didn’t let me finish. I won’t put your _Titanic_ pictures on the cover if you do one thing for me.”  
“I’ll do _anything_ , I swear!”  
Chelsea smirked. “I want _five_ shirtless photos. And that means five good ones. If you screw it up, it doesn’t count. Deal?”  
There was a long, long silence before Ayato’s voice came quietly from where he had collapsed on the couch. “If I do this, will you not put the _Titanic_ thing on the cover?”  
“Maybe, maybe not.” Chelsea’s sing-song voice and barely-held-back laughter did nothing to inspire confidence in her model. But what could he do?  
Ayato sighed. “Alright. Deal.”  
  
Four months later, Chelsea’s magazine was published.  
Three days after that, Touka Kirishima walked into a bookstore and passed by a magazine stand.  
And two minutes after that, the ears of everyone in the 11th Ward were plagued by the long, despairing, horror-filled screams of a girl whose entire life has been shattered.  
True to her word, Chelsea had not put the _Titanic_ shoot on the cover.  
She’d chosen the shirtless ones for that, instead.

**Author's Note:**

> *hugs Ayato*  
> I'm sorry, pls don't kill me...


End file.
